My first car was a 1963 Impala. It was my grandfather's, then my father's, then mine. There was a hole in the passenger floor big enough to pass a six pack through. Towards the end of its life it had a hard time starting on cold morning. Mr. Russo, the mechanic at our gas station, lived up the street from us. He asked for a key to the car, and each morning on his way to work he would start the car for me. Back in those days, you could pull the key out when the car was running, so he'd take the key and I'd walk out 20 minutes to a warm, running car. He would never accept a dime for doing it -- a really great guy. The car ran and ran, except for that starting problem. Plus, you could easily fit six bravado-filled teenagers in it to seek out the fairer gender around town. Unfortunately, our social skills rarely got us past seeking. But it was a blast. I can remember changing the tires each year to put on the snows.
The first car I ever bought new was a 1981 Camaro Z-28. It was totally loaded with every option except a radio, because stock radios sucked in those days. It had a hood scoop that actually opened to boost cold air to the engine, T-tops, all kinds of spoilers. It was a hot looking car. It was also the stupidest purchase I ever made.
